Page 47 of The Psychic

Ronnie’s wish was granted.

She spent all night in bed making love with Sloan.

They both turned their phones off and hardly spoke another word for hours. Even Ronnie’s comment on Evan Caldwell was tabled. Only in the very early morning hours did they bring up the subject again.

“Why Shana?” Sloan asked near her ear.

Ronnie was dozing beside him. It had been so nice to dive into this cocoon of warmth, safety and lovemaking, but in her snatches of sleep she’d been plagued by dark images haunting the edges of her dreams. Shana’s death on top of Mel’s …

and at a lesser level, losing her friendship with Brandy all over again.

“Do you think Evan told someone?”

His lips twisted. “He could have told any number of people, or put it on the internet. But he can be discreet when he wants to.”

“He said there were no cameras around Shana’s apartment.”

“And he was right,” Sloan reminded. “Maybe one of the neighbors will remember something by now.”

They sure hadn’t the night before. Even immersed in her own shock and cold, Ronnie had expected someone to know something, have seen something, and come forward.

Unfortunately there were quite a few empty units in the building.

So far, those neighbors who had been home, had sworn they hadn’t heard a thing.

“We need to talk to Evan again,” Ronnie stated firmly.

“We?”

She was about to argue her case to be included in whatever he was investigating, but the words died on her lips when she realized there was the faintest of smiles hovering around his.

“Another shower?” he suggested with a lifted brow.

She snuggled close to him once more. “Maybe not just yet …”

Four hours and a long shower later, Sloan was dressed in his clothes from the night before, his collar open, his jaw unshaven. Ronnie had put on jeans and a thick sweater but was still barefoot as they stood together in her living room.

Sloan was scrolling through the messages on his cell. “Nadia Lloyd called me. No voice mail. I need to stop by and see her,” he said without looking up.

Nadia had obviously been alerted to the painful news about Shana. “I don’t think she’d want me to go with you,” said Ronnie.

Sloan gave a slight nod. “Probably not. I’ll talk to Roberts and then head over there around ten, maybe.” He lifted his head to peer outside her window toward the highway where the first flakes of a winter snowfall were gently wafting downward.

“I want to help in the investigations.”

“I know, but first let’s get breakfast. I didn’t get much dinner, how about you?”

“No dinner, and yes to breakfast. But you’re not answering me.” She wasn’t about to be put off.

“You’re a civilian and—”

“Who’s helped the police before.”

“—that’s not my decision to make.”

“A cop-out, no pun intended,” she grumbled. “I can help. I’ve helped before. Just aim me in the right direction. Any job you can’t do, or don’t want to do, or … what?”

Something she’d said had caught his attention. “We can talk about it on the way,” he said, heading for the door.

“Let me get my shoes …”

By the time she met him at the door he’d clearly thought over her plea.

“There’s maybe one thing you can do. Townsend told me to stay away from Clint Mercer.

He thinks I headed in the wrong direction with Clint.

I don’t think Clint killed Melissa. It doesn’t fit.

But he knows something. If I’d been able to press him last night, he would have told me what that was, but Brandy was there and she was running interference. Maybe you can get past it with her.”

“You forget. Brandy blames me for siccing you on Clint.”

“Tell her I’m off the case. See what she says.”

“If she even takes my call. A big if. But I’ll do it,” she added swiftly, sensing he was about to shut down the discussion entirely.

They headed out the door and she glanced toward Angel’s place. Still dark. Still not home … A bad feeling was beginning to worm its way through her, but then she’d had a lot of those lately.

“What?” Sloan asked, following her gaze.

“Just wondering where Angel’s been.”

She headed down the steps, which were quickly being disguised beneath a building layer of snow.

“I’ll pick you up around four,” Harley said to Emma as she navigated her car through the streets and noticed the beautiful white swirls sweeping across her windshield, the wipers flicking off the dry snow before it had a chance to melt.

Harley wasn’t all that adept at driving in the white stuff, but the weather reporter had assured her it would stop by one p.m., two at the latest. It damn well better.

Emma, seated in the passenger seat, was scheduled for a shift at Theo’s Thrift Shop and she was determined to go even with the change in the weather.

The store wasn’t normally open on Sundays, and it shut its doors at the merest hint of inclement weather, but they were having a heavily advertised pre-Christmas sale today, which was always busy, no matter if the sky rained down cats, dogs and frogs.

“I will call you,” said Emma as they passed the park where kids in jackets, scarves and mittens were already trying to scoop up snowballs and chase each other.

Harley regarded Emma carefully. Since their talk about Mary Jo and the Heart of Sunshine Church, Emma had been remarkably quiet. It didn’t bode well. Emma rarely, if ever, hid things, but she was certainly being careful now.

Harley said, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Actually, don’t do anything I would do. Just stay out of it, okay?”

Emma was staring through the windshield. “What wouldn’t you do?”

“Never mind. Just don’t leave the thrift shop.”

Emma said tonelessly, “I have a work shift.”

“I know. I know. I just want you to stay on the shift the whole time.”

“I will unless I see the van.”

“That’s what I mean,” Harley said in exasperation. “Don’t get in the van. Is Theo going to be there today? You stay with her.”

“Who’s going to follow Mary Jo?” Emma asked.

“I will. Don’t worry. I’m on it. I’m going to park outside Mary Jo’s house or something. She’s not going back to that cult until she has our baby.”

“Jamie and Cooper’s baby,” corrected Emma.

“That’s right,” Harley agreed. Geez. Sometimes Emma could be so literal. “So … trust me. Okay, Emma? I’ll take care of everything.”

“I trust you, Harley.”

“Good.”

Was Emma understanding the gravity of the situation? It was so hard to tell sometimes. “Just stay at the thrift shop,” Harley repeated as she pulled into the store’s back parking lot and Emma climbed out.

As she watched her aunt head toward the rear door in her familiar plodding walk and finally enter, Harley let out her breath. She gazed through the windshield and upward to the falling flakes. Mary Jo was supposed to have her baby late January, but it didn’t hurt to ask, did it?

God, if you’re up there, would you mind bringing that baby in about a month early? No pressure, and everything needs to be A-OK. Just asking. For my mom … and dad … and Emma.

For breakfast, Ronnie chose Lucille’s again and she ordered oatmeal with a swirl of maple syrup and pecans, while Sloan chose an egg-bacon scramble with thick slices of wheat toast, which came with a trio of toppings: peach and blackberry jam and orange marmalade.

They both dug in as if they were starving to death as Ronnie had missed dinner entirely and she’d learned Sloan’s last meal was two street tacos around three p.m. Shana’s death had curbed any desire for food, but after an enthusiastic night of lovemaking, they both needed fuel.

Ronnie tried not to keep looking at him across the table, but it was difficult. He was serious and the planes of his face could look harsh, but he was a warm and giving lover and she … felt herself blushing , which was such bullshit!

“What?” he asked, glancing up.

“Was there anything else at the clearing and shed? Something forensics discovered?” she asked a bit desperately, trying to hide her feelings.

“I gave the residue I collected from Mercer’s truck bed and pictures of his tires to my contact at the lab.”

“Anything else? Something you can tell me, maybe I can use to press Clint?”

“The forensics report will likely be ready this week. Why? Are you looking for something in particular?”

“No …” She could tell she’d piqued his curiosity, but she really just wanted to distract herself from thinking about the feel of his mouth on hers, the hard muscles beneath the skin of his back, the weight of his body …

“You’re holding something back.” His eyes bored into hers as she stirred her oatmeal to keep from thinking about last night. “Did you see something?”

“No! Uh … not this time. I just want to help and thought maybe you knew something more.”

“What kind of help do you mean?” He took a bite of toast.

“Are we talking in circles? I just told you,” she said. “Something to help with Clint.”

“You’re not going to try and do something … extraordinary … are you?” A line had formed between his brows.

“You mean like … look into a crystal ball?” she asked before taking an experimental swallow of the warm oatmeal.

He held up his hands. “You were the one who said you don’t have any control over your ability.”

“That’s mainly true,” she admitted.

“Mainly?”

“You’re still having trouble with it, aren’t you?” she stated flatly.

“You think I should just accept that … you … that … you’re … ?”

“… a crazy loon? The woman you just spent the night making love to is batshit crazy?”

“Did I say that?” he demanded.

“Kinda. Almost.”

“I don’t understand your … ability. That’s what I’m saying. I don’t understand it at all, but there is something there,” he continued, when she would have broken in. “You have something … You saw Shana’s body, and you didn’t have time to kill her before we both got there.”

“Well, thanks for that.”